


Croire

by redambitions (viridianlight)



Series: The ABC Secret Agency for International Justice [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fangirl Enjolras, Gen, M/M, Piningjolras, Smittenjolras, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridianlight/pseuds/redambitions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras doesn't believe in love at first sight, or love at any amount of sight really. But this new guy whose files are crossed and blacked out, with information so highly classified that even Feuilly can't access them and grins that hold dangerous secrets, this guy might be the one sight that Enjolras will fall for, and maybe <i>die</i> for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Love at First Sight" is Not a Real Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely people! Thank you so much for reading this little (yet very ambitious ugh) story and I really hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Visit me at: redambitions.tumblr.com
> 
> and the ABC Agency page for character face claims (it's the "agents and associates" page under the links if it's confusing):  
> abc-agency.tumblr.com

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras' friends are insane for thinking that he _likes_ Grantaire (except for Feuilly of course, because Feuilly is amazing).

 

 

Enjolras stands at the small breakfast bar precariously holding a plate of eggs, a piece of toast and two mugs brimming with coffee. It had been a good day so far. Courfeyrac brought in his cat (which snuggled up against Enjolras' leg and even he has to admit that it is adorable). Jehan has baked Enjolras' favorite kind of muffin (cranberry and cinnamon but only when Jehan makes it because really nothing matches up to Jehan's cooking). Combeferre had finished his and Enjolras' report early and Agent Lamarque had actually come up to personally compliment Enjolras' presentation from earlier that week. No matter what witnesses have said, Enjolras definitely did not smile gleefully and stutter like some star struck teenager. That's not how Enjolras acts, especially not around his role model, so whoever says that he did should be discharged and kept in guarded isolation immediately.

"Excuse me," Feuilly says, reaching across Enjolras to grab a muffin. Enjolras moves aside to let Feuilly fill a mug of coffee. (And no, Enjolras' immediate reaction internally is not "Oh my gosh, it's the legendary Feuilly!" Only silly, obsessed people do that, not Enjolras.) "Congrats on the presentation, by the way. It was great," Feuilly says, walking towards a table with Enjolras.

"Oh yes. Thank you. It took quite a long time, but I'm pretty satisfied with the final result," Enjolras replies, taking a sip of the scalding hot coffee to keep his hand from shaking excitedly.

"You should be. How did you get all that information on the Patron-Minette? I'm sure the library doesn't have that much specific information on them. They’re the most secretive division of the Jondrettes," Feuilly asks, looking at Enjolras with genuine interest.

"Combeferre's laptop," Enjolras says. "You wouldn't believe how much information he has on there. Bossuet better have put good security on it.”

Feuilly chuckles, brushing a strand of his auburn hair out of his eyes. "I can believe it. 'Ferre's gonna have field day with the new guy."

Enjolras almost spits out his eggs (in front of Feuilly! Goddamn it.). "What? There's a new guy?" Why hadn't he been informed of this? He is a top agent. Why wasn't he consulted beforehand? Of course, he sometimes angered the bosses by not following orders or killing a few more politically corrupt accomplices than necessary but he is essential to this entire operation running properly!

"You haven't met him yet?" Feuilly asks. "Bossuet and Courfeyrac know him, I think. The higher ups interviewed him for almost twice the regular time and they had an intense background check done on him. I wasn't called in though,” he says with a hint of disappointment.

"Why?" Enjolras asks. “Aren't you usually brought in for new agents' interviews? You’re nice enough for them to think that this is a decent place.”

"It was mostly classified info that they were discussing. He knows a lot about the Jondrette gang, a lot more than any regular person would. He seemed suspicious but I guess he passed the test. His knowledge will be useful," Feuilly says thoughtfully.

Enjolras nods, still just a little hurt at his lack of involvement with such an important event. "Yes, I'm sure it will be. But are we sure that he's completely clean? We’ve had our fair share of bogus agents.”

Feuilly shrugs. "I talked to him earlier. I think he's alright, but that's just what I thought from talking to him. If he got past all the interrogation then he shouldn't be too bad. Do you remember your interview?"

"Of course. It isn't something you easily forget," Enjolras says. The interviews, which are really more like interrogations, can last for nearly twelve hours and the questions asked are difficult and designed to find double agents and potential traitors. Getting in is so secretive anyway that most people who are interviewed pass, but the occasional spy shows up and is caught immediately. Besides, not a lot of people who walk into the Musain Law Firm even know how to get past Cosette, the fake receptionist for the fake law firm which is actually a front for ABC. Marius barely got past Cosette on her first day, and only started walking again after five minutes of gaping at the confused girl (after Cosette cautiously opened her weapons drawer and alerted Valjean. She’s a good girl.).

"You should go talk to him," Feuilly urges. "You might end up working with him in the future."

"He's a new agent! He won't be assigned to the same team as me when he's just joined," Enjolras says angrily.

"He was automatically given a high ranking."

"What?!" Enjolras slams his hand on the tabletop. "But he's new! And highly suspicious. We've all worked for years to get to where we are."

"Who knows how the brains of the bosses work," Feuilly says, draining the last of his coffee. "It’s the ongoing mystery of the ABC. I have to go but it was nice talking with you." He pushes his chair back with a loud scrape and slowly gets up.

"Yes. Sorry for keeping you," Enjolras says, standing up also, his clenched fist slowly loosening.

"Oh it wasn't a problem," Feuilly says with a smile. "I always like talking to you. I'll see you around." He leaves with a small wave in Enjolras' direction and Enjolras can barely keep himself from squealing in glee. Feuilly likes talking with him! And then he remembers that he is a twenty-two year old, professional agent and assassin so he wipes the grin off of his face and head over to the lounge where the rest of his friends probably are.

As he expected, Enjolras finds half of his group of friends sitting around in the public lounge. Combeferre is the only one actually doing anything. He is sitting at the big table next to the bookshelves (which are so tall that only Combeferre can reach the top), typing away on his laptop, surrounded by a few notebooks and pens. Even after finishing a big presentation, Combeferre is already working on another research project involving the special agents of the Jondrettes. Bahorel and Jehan are playing some sort of first person shooter (which looks like one of their easier missions that they went on as amateur agents) on the gaming console petitioned for by Courfeyrac and Bahorel years ago. Jehan is definitely beating Bahorel while wondering about the idea of death as presented in the game. Joly is sitting with Bossuet on the dark green loveseat, back against the taller man's chest and resting a big sci-fi novel on his knees. Musichetta is still on her undercover mission and Bossuet and Joly have been talking about her every wonderful aspect for days. Joly even almost got his cell phone taken away and disabled for trying to call her.

“Where's Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asks, pulling out the swivel chair next to Combeferre and pulling out his binder from his bag.

Combeferre glances up at him. “I'm not sure. I think he mentioned something about the new agent.” Combeferre pushes his glasses up and looks back at Enjolras with his eyes shining. “Have you met him yet? He is a mine of information on the Jondrette gang. Of course, most of it is classified so he isn't even allowed to tell me.” Combeferre has an expression on his face that is close to annoyance but still not really. Even though Enjolras is Combeferre's closest friend, he could count the times that he's seen Combeferre cry or get truly angry on one hand. The times that Combeferre had become furious though, he was absolutely terrifying.

“That's terrible. You should have access to all the information we have,” Enjolras agrees. “And I haven't met him yet. I would like to. I was talking to Feuilly about him earlier,” he says, barely containing a smile from spreading across his face.

Combeferre's raises his eyebrows. “Talking with Feuilly, huh?”

Enjolras feels a smile tugging at his lips but manages to contain his giddiness. “Yes I was. I was just wondering why he would be assigned such a high status when he seems so suspicious. He could be a double agent. Why else would he have that much information on a secret mafia? We don't even have that much information on them! On official file anyway.”

Combeferre shrugs and turns back to his computer. “We have more on this laptop than we have on official file. And if he was a double agent, why would he have told them all the information he knows?”

“To make them trust him,” Enjolras argues. “For all we know, he could be lying.”

“If you want to think that,” Combeferre says, but Enjolras can tell that he doesn't think the same.

There is a commotion near the door and Enjolras looks up to see Courfeyrac running towards him with a man trailing behind him somewhat reluctantly.

“Enjolras! I was looking for you,” Courfeyrac yells, almost crashing into the table but managing to stop with a squeak from his patterned Converse. His green beanie is barely clinging to his chocolate hair. “You haven't met the new guy yet, have you? Well, this is Grantaire, and this is Enjolras, the guy I was telling you about.”

Enjolras shifts his gaze to the other man, Grantaire, who is staring at him with pretty blue-flecked gray eyes and his mouth slightly open. He shakes his head just a little, which causes his dark hair to become even more perfectly messy, and extends a calloused and tattooed hand. Fuck, Enjolras isn't supposed to be attracted to swirling tattoos. Or ripped up, paint stained jeans. Or a week's worth of scruff and a weird goatee-ish type of facial hair. Fuck the world. What is even happening right now?

“Grantaire, or you can call me R. Nice to meet you,” he says with a very annoying grin. There's a chip in his front tooth and a bit of orange paint on his upper lip (in the awful goatee thing).

Enjolras looks at him, trying to keep a glare out of his eyes but it probably didn't work because glares always like to creep into his eyes. “Enjolras,” he says, shaking Grantaire's hand. “I've already heard a lot about you.”

“Oh?” he says, tilting his head. “Is that a good thing?” His hand is still loosely grasping Enjolras'.

Enjolras pulls his hand away and lets it drop to his side. “I don't know. I'll have to see whether or not the things I've heard are true.”

“Right back at you,” he responds. “I've heard a lot about you too, O' marble lover of liberty,” he finishes with a smirk.

Enjolras whips his glare over to Courfeyrac. “Is that what you're calling me now?”

Courfeyrac backs away, his hands up. “Hey, don't be mad now. It's not like it's false or an insult. In fact, it's a compliment! Uh, kinda I guess. It's not a bad thing?”

“So what are you then? The conceited lover of pretty girls?”

“And boys and everything in between~!” Courfeyrac sings in a sing song voice, patting Enjolras’ chest. “Never thought you would be one to forget that, Enjolras. Gosh, forgetting the minorities! Tsk, tsk.”

Grantaire raises his hand with fake excitement. “Ooh, ooh! Can I be the hungover lover of alcohol?”

“There's a classy title!” Courfeyrac says, slinging his arm around Grantaire's shoulders. “C'mon. Let's go get a beer and some donuts from the kitchen.”

“They've got free beer and sugary fried dough here?”

“Well, Bahorel brings it and it's not like the bosses check the refrigerator on a regular basis so yes, there is free beer and the bosses steal the donuts and they think we don't notice! What kind of idiots do they take us to be? But anyway, yeah, we usually have food and booze.”

“Fuck yes. I'm liking this place more and more,” Grantaire says, looking back at Enjolras, catching his eye and raising his perfect lips in another smile. Enjolras feels a flush growing on his face and quickly looks away. Damn it, Enjolras isn't supposed to be attracted to cute, chapped smiles either.

The two of them leave and Enjolras sits back down, crossing his arms and facing Combeferre.

“You like him,” Combeferre says nonchalantly, not even looking up from his research.

“What?!” Enjolras sputters out, lunging forward and almost rising out of his seat. “I-I don't know what you're talking about,” he says, regaining his composure and lowering himself down. “I've only just met him and he is fucking suspicious and is probably a goddamn spy and why does no one else see it?!” he finishes, anger once again rising into his voice. Jehan looks over at him and giggles, leaning over to write something down in his notebook before promptly returning to the game and shooting Bahorel’s character in the balls.

Combeferre sighs and smiles at his best friend. “Good god, you're infatuated with him.”

“No I'm not!” Enjolras yells, standing up angrily, causing everyone in the room to turn and stare at him. Enjolras notices and blushes deeply, sitting back down. “I don't believe in love at first sight. It's a stupid-ass idea. I definitely don't like him.”

“Don't believe in love at first sight?” Combeferre asks incredulously. “Have you _seen_ Marius lately?”

“Are you really comparing me to that excuse of a man?” Enjolras groans, rolling his eyes. “Goodness, he is such a disgrace to ABC, but he’s an okay person I suppose.”

“Well, he's the only person I know besides you now who sees a person and is absolutely smitten with them. Well, Grantaire too, I suppose.”

“H-Huh?” Enjolras stammers, a blush rising on his cheeks. “I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh, Enjolras darling,” Jehan says, coming over as Bahorel throws down his game controller. “Don’t play stupid. Grantaire definitely likes you, maybe just for your appearance but hopefully not, since you don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asks. “He’s… really cute dammit.”

Combeferre and Jehan both look at Enjolras. “Really?” Combeferre says.

“He’s not that conventionally attractive,” Jehan says. “But, oh Enjolras, good for you, not liking someone just for their exterior!”

“But I _don’t_ like him!”


	2. Denial and Drunk Friends are Not Good Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Courfeyrac sings annoying theater songs and Enjolras' friends are _really_ drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the long wait! I've been busy with NaNoWriMo though I haven't gotten very far. Mostly, it's school and social problems. I've been incredibly stressed out and having a literal mid-life crisis, but in high school. It sucks and wow, I've been feeling so shitty lately.

 

Courfeyrac has tripped over Enjolras' desk barricade four times today. And of course, the fifth time, he is actually looking for Enjolras, which is unfortunate because Courfeyrac is able to stop any form of productive work in mere seconds.

Enjolras is fortunate to have such a nice (okay, it's kind of a scavenged desk found in some back closet, but it's a desk!) desk. Although ABC is a well funded organization, Agent Valjean seems to think that desks are overrated and that people can make do with kitchen counters and coffee tables in front of TVs. Of course, there are people like Bahorel who can't actually do anything without being in front of a TV but Enjolras needs a fucking desk to do work on.

Yes, it may be a cheap wooden desk with coffee rings on it and other questionable stains but there are two large drawers and is stocked with pens and paper from the ABC supply closet (which is mostly for guns and weapons but Agent Valjean refuses to call it an armory. ABC is supposed to be a peaceful organization, but no one really ever remembers that). Enjolras' desk is right near the kitchen so his coffee mug that Jehan painted for him is never empty. He has another cup with his pens, some black and some red (but mostly red because why would someone ever want to write in a different color?). On the wall is a letter from Agent Lamarque, a few photos of his friends and a hook for his coat. He also has a shelf of books and little knick knacks from some of his missions abroad or little things that Jehan randomly makes him. The only big problem with his desk, is that it is right in the middle of the hallway because Agent Valjean doesn't like to waste space. So people walk back and forth around his desk all day but Combeferre brought him a bunch of cheap and empty bookcases to barricade himself in his makeshift cubicle. But Courfeyrac really does by understand the concept of concentrating on work.

"Enjolras~! Wanna come out for drinks with us?" He calls, prancing around the bookcases right into Enjolras' personal work space. He's taken off the slacks that give him at least a slight aura of professionalism at the meeting earlier today and changed into a pair of way-too-skinny jeans and jammed a maroon fedora on top of his wavy hair.

"No thank you," Enjolras says, rubbing his temples. "I still have work to do." There’s the paper for Combeferre’s project, the filing to do for Agent Valjean, the poems to read for Jehan and so much more work to do for ABC and his strange friends.

"Aw, c'mon," Courfeyrac whines, resting his elbows on Enjolras' shoulders as Enjolras groans. "It's 9:00 on a Friday. You can't have that much work to do! You never come out with us. _It's Friday, Friday. Gotta get down on Friday!_ ” he sings.

"No, Courfeyrac. I have to finish this before--"

"Feuilly is coming with us," Courfeyrac coos.

“No, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras repeats with annoyance in his voice. “I need to get this done. I'll go out some other time, alright?” He picks up his (red) pen and continues to write notes in his (red) notebook maybe pressing a bit harder than usual because his trusty laptop was apparently not to trusted since it broke two days ago. God dammit. That's what happens when Enjolras placed his trust in devices (that are not red) made by untrustworthy companies (AKA not Bossuet who could make a great computer almost out of anything but somehow his personal computers always broke down more than the ones he assembled for other people).

“Grantaire is coming too.”

The pen stops mid sentence. Enjolras' mouth drops open and his eyes widen in mid stare. He slowly turns to face Courfeyrac. “Uh, I-I... Why does that matter? I mean, I barely know him. And he's most definitely a double agent, so I really should do some more research on him. I don't care if he's going or not. I mean, why would I give a fuck?”

Courfeyrac gapes at Enjolras. “Oh my god, you totally have a massive crush on him,” he whispers. “Oh my god, Combeferre was right,” he continues, talking much louder. “Oh my god!” he shouts. “You have to come now! _I'll teach you the proper ploys, when you talk to boys. Little ways to flirt and flounce, ooh!_ ,” Courfeyrac sings while doing a little spin. “Come along, darling Enj!” he says, pulling Enjolras out of his chair. It's times like these when Enjolras curses Courfeyrac's vanity which prompted him to work out four times a week. Damn his attractive and useful biceps.

“Wait, I need to put my stuff away,” Enjolras says, trying to gather his things into his messenger bag before Courfeyrac drags him away. “And-- oh, you knocked over the fan Feuilly made me.”

“No time, no time!” Courfeyrac cries. “C'mon now!” Enjolras grabs his (red) coat off of the hook and condemns himself to his fate because Courfeyrac isn't going to give up, ever, which is nice about him but also terribly, terribly annoying.

xxx

“Enjorlas! Oh, um, Enjolras! You're 'ere!” Joly says. “Oops!” he giggles, clutching a beer bottle and falling down onto Bossuet who's sitting with everyone else in a booth.

“Joly, how many beers have you had?” Enjolras asks, taking off his coat and tossing it next to Combeferre. “You never could hold your alcohol well.”

“I don't know~!” Joly sings. “Not that many... haha, not many... that's, uh, uh, funny!” He starts laughing hysterically and slams the bottle down on the table with about ten more and several shot glasses. Various belongings are spread across the table and the booth including Joly's large briefcase of medical supplies that he takes with him everywhere. Bahorel's military jacket is hanging off the side of the booth and Feuilly's worker's cap is on the ground, probably because between Joly and Jehan wiggling around, almost everything on the booth has fallen off.

Bossuet sighs and pulls the wiggling Joly onto his lap. “Most of these aren't his,” he tells Enjolras. “Anyway, I'm glad you came Enjolras. You never come out with us!”

“Yeah, you really should take some time off sometimes,” Feuilly says, taking a swig of his beer. “Come hang out with us more.” Enjolras feels his heart leap. Oh my gosh, Feuilly said he wants to spend more time with him! This is a major life event that will not go on Facebook although Enjolras really wants it to be.

“That's what I was saying!” Courfeyrac says, squeezing in next to Jehan who has an half full bottle of colorful vodka in front of him, but doesn't look even tipsy. “Darling Jehan, pour me a shot of sugar filled alcohol.”

“Dear, why do you need a shot glass?” Jehan asks, doodling with Sharpie on the label of the bottle. “There's a perfectly good bottle of vodka here.”

“Give it here, Jehan,” Bahorel says, setting down his beer. “Is that vodka? God, I haven't had more than a beer yet and Jehan, how did you get an entire bottle?”

“The bartender thought I couldn’t handle it but I told him otherwise,” Jehan says with a threatening air. “And it's whipped cream flavored,” Jehan replies, passing the bottle over.

“You are terrifying,” Bahorel states. And ew,” Bahorel says, grimacing and pushing the bottle back. “Never mind. I'm not gonna betray the original Russian, vodka-flavored vodka.”

“More for me,” Jehan says, taking a gulp of liquor and curling up against Joly, who managed to wriggle off of Bossuet's lap. Joly giggles and snuggles up with Jehan who hands him the vodka. Joly attempts to drink it before Bossuet takes it out of his hands and gives it back to Jehan.

“Not all of us can hold our liquor like you Jehan!” Feuilly says. “By the way, where's Pontmercy? I thought he came here with you. We should keep track of him, he’s kind of a lost puppy.”

“It’s fine, he’s right over there,” Jehan sighs happily, pointing over to the corner. “He left as soon as we got here. Oh, look at him! He and Cosette are adorable together!” Jehan says and glances quickly over at Courfeyrac.

“Oh,” Courfeyrac says quietly as Enjolras looks over at him too. “They’re cute. I’m so happy for them,” he says with no real emotion. Jehan has a sad a expression on his face while Enjolras is thoroughly confused about what is going on in Courfeyrac’s puzzling mind.

Marius looks over at the group and blushes furiously. Cosette laughs and reaches across the table to hold Marius' hand. He turns back to Cosette, his flush spreading down his neck. Cosette smiles and says something to him. He beams and squeezes her hand.

A smile springs back onto Courfeyrac’s face but it doesn’t completely reach his eyes. “Marius~!” Courfeyrac coos. “Cosette is one lucky girl.”

“Aw, he's found his love,” Jehan says, resting his chin in his hand. “That's great for him. I'm so glad that they've found each other.”

“Yes, I have accomplished my mission of not letting Marius die a virgin! Or single at least,” Courfeyrac says listlessly. “What friend of Courfeyrac could have never had a relationship?” His enthusiasm is suddenly back and raring. “Only one, and that's about to change. Now, the next mission: Operation: Get Enjolras His Man!”

“W-What?” Enjolras sputters out. “What are you even talking about?”

“Yeah, what areyou talking about?” Bossuet asks, pulling Joly away from the unopened bottle of beer on the table. “Does Enjolras have a man now?”

“He's about to!”Courfeyrac says gleefully, clapping his hands.

“Ooh, Grantaire right?” Jehan asks. “Oh, Enjolras dear, you are so in love with him!” He says. “I saw you two yesterday. You are completely smitten.”

“I've already had this talk with Combeferre,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes. “I do not like him at all.”

Combeferre chuckles. “Yeah, I did talk to him about it. He is in complete denial of any form of affection for Grantaire.” Combeferre pulls his now empty glass of Scotch closer to him and fills it up halfway.

“What am I denying? Absolutely nothing, that's what,” Enjolras says. “Do you have any evidence to back up your claims? Do you have any witnesses? Any exhibits?”

“Gosh, Valjean missed his chance when he decided Musain isn't going to be a real law firm,” Feuilly says. “You would be a great lawyer.”

Enjolras is about to smile when he remembers that he's annoyed with Courfeyrac. “Thank you Feuilly, but Courfeyrac, I don't know anything about him so I couldn't possibly like him at all. In all the years you've known me, have I ever like-liked someone?”

“There was that one time when--”

“That's confidential Combeferre!” Enjolras yells. “That doesn't count,” he says, regaining his composure. “That was stupid and definitely doesn't count.”

“You can't leaving us hanging!” Bahorel says. “Now you have to tell us what happened!”

“That's a story for another time,” Courfeyrac says hastily as Enjolras glares at him. Oh some of Courfeyrac's dirty secrets are getting posted on the company bulletin board the next week. Half of them what Enjolras knows is Courfeyrac's own fault anyway. Drunken texts are never a good thing. “Grantaire is probably coming soon. Now, we need to figure what to do when he gets here.”

“When who get's here?” Enjolras' heart almost jumps out of his mouth, kind of like that one guy during one mission in some obscure town in Europe. Actually, Enjolras doesn't remember much of that mission because Courfeyrac accidentally knocked him out within an hour.

“Grrrantaire!” Joly cries, climbing over Bossuet's legs but ending up just flopping back onto his lap. “You're 'ere! Rrrr... Haha, ooh, I sound like a pirate!”

“Wow, look at you! Can't have someone be drunker than I am,” Grantaire says, placing his jacket on the booth and opening a bottle of beer. “Is this strongest thing we have?”

Jehan holds up his bottle of vodka. “It's flavored.”

Grantaire wrinkles his nose (oh shit, it's cute. He looks like a bunny but goddammit, Enjolras doesn't like bunnies or Grantaire. He might be allergic to bunnies actually.). “Nah, I'll pass. I prefer my original vodka.”

“Dude!” Bahorel shouts, raising his fist which Grantaire bumps. “We need to be bros! You box right? We should go boxing sometime.”

“Can't see any reason why not, dude,” Grantaire says. “I'm gonna go get some whiskey.”

“Ooh yay!” Joly squeals. “I like whiskeyyy, um, I think?... do I like whiskey?” he asks Bossuet.

“Yes you do, babe,” Bossuet sighs. “You like whiskey a whole lot.”

“Bring the whole bottle,” Feuilly says. “Whiskey sounds delicious.”

Grantaire laughs (a clear, amazing laugh that's different from his rougher voice and oh, Enjolras really likes that laugh). “I'm gonna need an entire bottle for myself, but I'll get a second bottle to share.”

“Thanks, R,” Feuilly says.

“No problem,” Grantaire replies and goes to the bar, and Enjolras swears that he is trying to swing his hips as seductively as possible, otherwise, why would Enjolras be staring at his butt? Because he is not attracted to him in any way.

“Now I see it,” Bahorel says. “You do have the hots for Grantaire.”

Enjolras sputters. “Bahorel, are you joining in on this too?”

“Not just him,” Feuilly says, patting Enjolras on the arm. “I see it too. In fact, I’m pretty sure we can all see it. It’s quite obvious.”

“Godammit,” Enjolras mutters, standing up and knocking over two beer bottles. “If you’re all going to be like this, I’m leaving.” He grabs his (red) jacket and walks away as his more sober friends run after him. Joly tries to follow and almost falls before Bossuet catches him. He giggles and asks,

“Does Enjorly like someone?”

“Yes, baby, he does.”

“As much as I like you?”

“No, definitely not sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> redambitions.tumblr.com


	3. The Opposite of Trust Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which weird non-cafes, stupid men and glorious, _glorious_ coffee makes Enjolras drop his guard and that's a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> abc-agency.tumblr.com/characters for face claims
> 
> redambitions.tumblr.com for my main blog.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait dearies. I've had this chapter done for a while but I just kept rereading and rereading it so it took a while to post. Also, a lot of personal things that I would like to put in these notes but it is late and I cannot think clearly right now so good night/day/evening and enjoy the chapter! :)

“Going somewhere?”

Enjolras turns around with a snarl, his breath clouding up around him like the flaming breath of a dragon, which Enjolras could easily be, especially in his fiery red jacket. “What now? Coming to harass me some more?” he snaps.

Grantaire puts up his hands and backs up a step. “Whoa, dude, calm down. Who said anything about harassing you?”

“Oh, it’s you,” Enjolras says, backing off and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I thought you were one of my idiotic friends. Why are you out here? What happened to the whiskey you were getting?”

Grantaire shrugs, his green plaid scarf falling back down over his shoulder. “Your idiotic friends looked like they needed it more, especially Courfeyrac. He seemed really down.”

“He did. I’m not sure why though. He’s usually so energetic and cheerful, almost to the point of making me insane,” Enjolras says, subconsciously wrapping his own scarf a little tighter. “I would talk to him about it but according to ‘Ferre, I’m terrible with this human enigma commonly called ‘feelings’.”

Grantaire snorts. “Wow, you must be bad with people in general. How did you ever get promoted? Promotions usually involve, you know, talking to people.”

“Justice doesn’t involve dealing with irritating people face-to-face,” Enjolras says. “Just getting rid of them face-to-face. No dialogue needed. Maybe a little screaming, but that’s it.”

“You’re so scary,” Grantaire says with a grin. “Especially when you’re shivering like a chihuahua.”

“Are you really comparing me to a chihuahua?” Enjolras asks incredulously. “I was compared to Pontmercy by Combeferre and now a midget excuse of a dog by you?”

“Both shake uncontrollably in certain situations,” Grantaire reasons with a smirk on his face. “Only difference is that chihuahuas aren’t terrified of women and don’t have warm cafes to go to. Wanna go get some coffee in one with me?”

“Huh?” Enjolras says, feeling a blush rising up on his face. He blames it on the cold wind that blows through at that moment. “Oh, I don’t know. I have work to do and… you know, things to do.”

“C’mon,” Grantaire says, reaching for Enjolras’ arm then quickly drawing his hand away. Enjolras is sad that Grantaire didn’t grab his arm but is also relieved because the feelings that Grantaire induces in him don’t make sense. “It’s almost twelve on a Friday. What ‘things’ do you have to do so late?”

“A lot of things, mostly work things. I always have things to do,” Enjolras scoffs, even though he really just wants to go on a date hang out with Grantaire. “But like you said, it’s midnight on a Friday. What cafe is going to be open at this time?”

Grantaire grins. “I know a place. Come along, little chihuahua, let’s go get some coffee.”

“I’m not a small dog,” Enjolras grumbles, although he follows Grantaire down the street to whatever little hideaway he knows about. Grantaire hums a little and it sounds like some punk rock song from the early 2000s. It sounds nice and Enjolras tries to hide his face in his scarf because he catches the reflection of his blushing face in the window of a store, and good god he cannot be seen in public blushing.

"Hey, are you okay? Your face is red and you actually do look kinda sick," Grantaire says, stopping and looking at Enjolras with concern. He again reaches for Enjolras, this time to test his forehead but Enjolras subconsciously pulls away and Grantaire drops his hand again.

"I'm fine," Enjolras grumbles, trying to bury his face in his scarf even more. "It's just really cold. Let's get to wherever you're taking me."

"Well you're being oddly trusting," Grantaire says, continuing to walk down the street. "For all you know, I could be leading you into some death trap right now."

"You think I'm not armed?" Enjolras says a little too loudly. Thankfully, there's not a lot of people walking around the streets at midnight and those who do are probably armed as well. “Grantaire,” he says more quietly. “I’m a leading agent at ABC, and you think I’m going to be walking around without at least one gun on me? What do you think this huge jacket is for?”

“To keep the poor little puppy warm?” Grantaire coos and Enjolras really wants to ~~kiss~~ punch him right now. “It’s doing a better job of being a portable armory.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes (even though he really is freezing). “And you don’t have a few weapons in your jacket? Actually, yeah, you rookies are never prepared.”

Grantaire stops abruptly and pauses a second too long before replying, “Even a rookie knows to keep a switchblade in his pocket,” he says, pulling out a small pocket knife. “But c’mon, a gun is always better.” He opens his coat to reveal a tiny bit of a handgun.

Enjolras sighs. “Fine, maybe you’re not too unprepared. Now can we get to this cafe? You promised me a midnight coffee and I still haven’t gotten it.”

“We’re here, you impatient little puppy,” Grantaire says, pointing his thumb at a warmly lit cafe tucked between an old music store and a thrift shop. A sign swaying overhead in the slight wind is lit by the lights inside and shows a picture of a silver candlestick and proclaims “Corinthe Bistro”.

“This is not a cafe,” Enjolras mutters, following Grantaire inside.

“Yes, it’s not. It’s much better,” Grantaire says, unwinding his scarf. “They also sell real food here.”

“So it’s not a cafe. We could’ve gone to a real cafe. I know a great one across town, also called the Musain actually. It’s owned by Miss Fantine and it only serves coffee and pastries, a real cafe.”

“Will they also sell the stick up your ass?” Grantaire jokes, leading them to a table and draping his coat and scarf over the back of his chair. “It’s across town and owned by Miss Fantine? First of all, I don’t know who that is and second, just try this place. It’s fantastic and open 24 hours a day.”

“Miss Fantine is a wonderful woman and fine, the Musain isn’t open 24 hours but I’m sure it’s better,” Enjolras says, sliding into a chair and putting his weapon laden jacket carefully on the back of the chair.

Grantaire shrugs and opens the menu. “Does this Musain have 24 hours breakfast burritos stuffed with bacon strips and hash browns? And little sausages and cheese? And every third cup of coffee is free? Good god, I love this place,” he groans, waving over the waitress.

“Hey Kevin, how are you this ungodly hour?” the pretty waitress says, her purple dip-dyed hair bright against her black top, walking over with her light blue heels clicking against the floor, snapping her gum and tapping her foot. “The regular?”

“Kevin?” Enjolras whispers.

Grantaire ignores him. “Hello Irma. Your night shift doesn’t seem to be going well, huh. Yeah, the regular and a large coffee please,” he says, closing and handing over the menu. He then looks over at Enjolras. “Kevin is my first name,” he says. “It’s awful, never call me that ever.”

“And you?” Irma asks Enjolras.

“Uh, just a coffee and a cranberry muffin,” Enjolras says, also handing his menu to her. “Extra shot of espresso please.”

The waitress stares at him. “It’s midnight. You want an extra shot?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says, somewhat confused. “Actually, make it two shots please.”

“Uh, alright dude,” she replies and walks away.

Enjolras turns back to Grantaire who is staring at him. “What?! Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Two shots of espresso?” Grantaire asks, raising an eyebrow. “And a muffin? You haven’t had dinner yet, and also, you know that they aren’t going to be as good as Jehan’s. Why bother trying?”

“It’s my goal to find a muffin better than Jehan’s,” Enjolras says. “Not that it’s going to be in some crappy diner like this but there has to be a better muffin somewhere in the world.”

“Why not just eat Jehan’s cooking forever?”

“He’s too good,” Enjolras says. “at cooking and at ABC. He’s on missions so often and his muffins don’t keep in the fridge. Combeferre worries about me three times as much when he’s gone since I apparently only eat coffee and Jehan’s cooking.”

“Wow, now I really need to find you somewhere to eat,” Grantaire says. “Don’t worry, I know every place in this town. There has to be some place that you’ll enjoy.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “Nope, Jehan’s muffins and Miss Fantine’s pastries are all I eat, washed down with any form of coffee, no sugar.”

“No wonder Combeferre is always so worried about you!” Grantaire says as Irma comes over with their food. “How are you not dead from malnutrition already?” She sets a giant plate with a burrito and extra hash browns in front of Grantaire with his coffee. Enjolras also gets his steaming wonderful cup of coffee and a lopsided muffin with cranberries that really look more like raisins.

“Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten this muffin,” Enjolras sighs, staring despondently at the muffin.

“Why?” Grantaire asks, pouring some kind of alcohol from a flask that disappears back into his jacket into his coffee and shoving breakfast burrito into his mouth at the same time. “It’s looks completely fluffy and delicious but not as good as this fabulous burrito, want some?” Grantaire forks up a bit and holds it up to Enjolras’ face.

“No thank you,” Enjolras says, drawing away and picking up his coffee.

“Fine,” Grantaire says, putting the forkful in his own mouth. “Then do you want some booze in your coffee? Makes the caffeine even better.”

“No I only take my coffee with cream, thank you,” Enjolras says, pouring cream in his coffee and then tearing off a piece of the somewhat deformed muffin. He starts to put it in his mouth when he notices Grantaire staring at him.

“What?” he asks, pulling his hand away.

“No, no,” Grantaire says urgently. “Enjolras, put that muffin in your mouth!”

Enjolras stares at him incredulously. “Alright, alright,” he says, sticking the muffin in his mouth. And, goodness wow, that’s a damn good muffin. It’s buttery and crisp on the outside and warm and fluffy on the inside and floats like clouds in his mouth. The raisin-doppelganger cranberries are actually cranberries (thank goodness. If they were raisins, Enjolras might actually shoot someone). There isn’t a perfect blend of cinnamon mixed in, like Jehan’s muffins, but instead it’s a hint of honey in the delicious puff of muffin.

Enjolras looks up at Grantaire and he’s grinning like a madman. “Godammit, I fucking did it. I found a muffin that you’ll eat,” Grantaire says gleefully.

“Oh my god,” Enjolras says, breaking off another piece of muffin. “This is fantastic, um, I didn’t think you would be right about this.”

“Of course I am,” Grantaire says, returning again to his own plate. “I don’t lie about good food.”

“You really don’t,” Enjolras says, washing down the muffin with his coffee (which isn’t as good as the Musain’s, but coffee is coffee and coffee is a magical substance that keeps the world spinning). “I hope that you aren’t this honest when you’re on a mission.”

Grantaire laughs. “Of course not. Do you really think that I’m honest? Gosh, I already lied to you many times tonight. You think I would tell you my first name so easily?”

“You--” Enjolras starts. “You’ve lied to me?”

“Yep, one of the first times I told you the truth tonight,” Grantaire says. “I was totally lying about that muffin. You might have been poisoned for all I know.”

Enjolras almosts spits out the last bite of muffin. “Dammit,” he mutters. How did he let his guard down so easily? Especially because Grantaire was most definitely a double agent. Wait, why is Enjolras out alone with him? At night? And now Grantaire is talking about him being poisoned? God, he is a complete idiot.

“I have to go,” Enjolras says, digging out some money from his pocket and throwing it on the table, probably much more than what the meal cost. He grabs his jacket and stands up hurriedly, almost knocking over the chair.

“W-What?” Grantaire says, also standing up. “Uh, sorry if I freaked you out or something. Is something wrong? Why are you suddenly leaving? I’m sorry for whatever I did. I’m really sorry,” he says, with a hint of desperation.

“I-I don’t-- I can’t--” Enjolras stammers. “I have to go.” He practically runs out the door and out of the corner of his eye he sees Grantaire stand up too, reaching out as if to grab Enjolras but drops his hand and his jaw, and stares after Enjolras with hurt and regret in his eyes.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> redambitions.tumblr.com


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